Stay
by Faithfulakuma
Summary: Elaiyne is a harlot owned by Petyr Baelish. She has never seen the little lion man known as the Imp but she has long heard stories of him. The day finally comes when she meets him and it entails more for her than she ever imagined. Hinted Tyrion/OC
1. Changes

She missed her home. She missed Pentos. But there was hardly any sort of chance of returning. No, not since she'd been sold into this _business_. A business that women like her hardly ended up in for themselves. No, they were typically sold into it and forced to make money for their owner. Little money, if any, went to them. Of course, the owners supplied what was necessary but clean sleeping quarters and good treatment wasn't _necessary_. So they slept in groups, huddled close together, breath visible in the cold night. All the others are asleep, all but her. The night is cold, and the sky is quite beautiful. It's almost as though the Gods are trying to show her the beauty in her pain. It was rather bittersweet; beauty and pain, hand in hand. She hated it, not that she dare say so aloud. Silence was far more agreeable than words, at this point.

Eyes the color of emeralds behold the sky above, unwilling to look away. The night is quiet, strange considering it's King's Landing. She generally heard something, whether it be mice sneaking into the brothel, shuffling, drunken Lannister guards laughing, or the distant sound of waves washing up against the land, forever trying to overcome it. Finally, she closes her eyes and opens them, gaze shifting to the women around her. They sure didn't receive a lot of respect from anyone, despite the conditions and responsibilities of the "job" they had. Pleasing men wasn't easy, contrary to popular belief. If one thing was even wrong, like maybe their nose was too big, breasts too small, or eyes the color of someone they hated, they were thrown out and another one of them thrown into the fire. Some of them had even been struck, nearly killed, and later punished by their owner.

She disliked him. She had always been able to smell rats, and Lord Petyr Baelish was certainly a rat. Obviously, she couldn't just go around saying that. Regardless, when she looked into his eyes, those dark brown windows of his, she could see the darkness within his soul, and it made her swallow hard and her blood go cold. She would feel her body tense and immediately, fear would set her ablaze. She wanted to **run** , but running was never an option. They all knew that. That's why he knew forcing them to sleep outside wouldn't produce any issues; none of them dared to run away from him, as the consequences should it happen were deeply beat into their brains.

Still, she frequently daydreamed of a better life; of running away, finding a handsome man to love and be loved by, and having children that she would cherish and love until the day she died. It gave her such hope imagining them running around, feet pattering across the halls of a grand castle; sweeping them up in her arms. Thinking about these daydreams causes a smile to come to her lips and eyes divert again, this time to her hands resting on the material, hardly warm, over her. A small ring, silver and rather tight around her middle finger, sparkles underneath the light of the sky. A softer smile and she lifts her hand to observe the ring in the moonlight, hand moving from left to right. She'd hidden it from Baelish, knowing full well he would have taken it and sold it. Or used it as leverage to get her to do things. It was from her homeland, Pentos, given to her by her father when she was quite young. It didn't fit at first, but she'd grown into it. Never had she let it go, not even now.

Taking it and removing it from her finger, she slid it into the safety of her bosom. Bringing the material atop her up to her neck, she settles further into her warmed up spot on the ground and nuzzling into the shoulder of a fellow woman, slowly lets her eyes close and sleep overtake her. Maybe the Gods would get her out of here someday, but for now, she was to remain in suffering.

She was glad she hadn't run away. _He_ was here. The man she'd long desired to meet, whom she'd heard stories of from the time she was young and even now. The whispers of her fellow prisoners about him and his _endowment_. It was difficult to discern the truth of him, through all the differing stories. Some said he was short but had incredible endowments. Others said he was small, in both height and endowment. She had heard stories from her father and wayfaring men of him, of a monster born with one red eye, a tail, a large head, and claws. And today would be the day she would find out. Darting about the halls, keeping herself hidden, she could hear the harlots murmuring, whispering amongst themselves about him. Where was he?

And then she saw him, and while he wasn't everything she'd heard about him ( no claws, no red eye, no tail ), she still found him to be quite marvelous. A man of rather miserable height, messy hair of a bright reddish brown, and eyes the color of cold stone, almost gray. He stood amidst the main room, speaking to Baelish, and she couldn't help but notice that he was dressed in the colors of his family, red and gold, and she certainly couldn't miss the lion-shaped ring on his middle finger, and a much more plain ring on the finger next to it. Bless the Gods, he was _beautiful_. Never had she seen a more majestic and—a loud belch interrupted her thought, and it takes her a moment to realize that she is already focused on it's source.

He was so _disgusting_.

A whistle breaks through her disgust at him, and she quickly moves to emerge from the shadows she's hiding from, immediately heeling at the side of her owner who has just called her. She keeps her head down, but she is most certainly peering at the little lion man through her dark black bangs, looking over his short figure, avoiding his face. She was always told not to look them in the eyes; and she wasn't going to break a rule now. That'd be begging for punishment. Baelish spoke and like always, a chill went through her but she covered it up by shifting her weight.

"You asked for one of my finest. Here she is." Baelish gestured to her, catching her eye, before she redirected it to the little man's shoes. Rather expensive looking, they were, something she would expect from a Lannister. Eyes remain on his feet, even as he spoke, and only a sharp bark from Baelish releases her from her daze. Head of black snapping up to meet the little lion man's gaze immediately, she had to take yet another moment to form speech. Locking eyes with him was somehow paralyzing, as if he was reading her like she was an open book. It was true what they said; eyes were the windows to the soul.

"S-sorry, my lord, what did you request of me?" She must sound like such a fool but she hadn't heard him—or maybe she really just wanted to hear his voice again.

"What is your name?" He repeated, and bless the Gods again, his voice was one of the most amazing things she'd heard. It wasn't gruff but it certainly had some authority behind it, rather ironic considering he's not-so-commanding height. Eyes would flutter and she'd curse herself for forgetting her own name in a moment like this.

"Elaiyne, my lord, my name is Elaiyne." Her own voice sounded so tiny and rather harsh compared to his, despite being the opposite gender. She swallows thickly, trying to rid herself of this voice.

"And where do you come from?" He asks of her, once again causing her to have to think about the answer but Baelish does not interfere.

"Pentos, my lord." Her voice continues to sound very gruff, but she's beginning to believe it's simply due to her own admiration of the other and excitement at meeting him finally since hearing about him from her childhood years.

He makes a sound, as though he is thinking, and she nearly moves to return to the shadows, but is stopped when he speaks again, this time to Baelish. He has rather eloquent speech, worthy of a nobleman, and she can hardly keep up with her inferior dialect. With this in mind, she refocuses her attention to the stone floor, observing the many cracks and the slow wearing of the stone from people coming and going and furniture being moved across it. A hand on her shoulder and turning her towards the owner snaps her out of her thoughts and she finds herself looking into the face of Baelish and he speaks in a hushed tone. An explanation follows and then immediately, a threat. This was how it typically was when she was rented for a few days, to be taken away by her buyer, and to return in a few days. She must promise not to run away or to do anyone insult whilst she is away, or he would have her head. After doing so, Baelish gives a nod to the little man and the other people with him, Lannister guards she hadn't even noticed, and she watches as he leaves them, green eyes following him out.

"Shall we go?" Comes that beautiful voice again and she finds his form again, eyes carefully looking him over, a hint of admiration visible within them.

"Yes, of course, my lord." She walks until she falls into step beside him, and they leave, side by side. She was never going to see the inside of this whorehouse again.


	2. Little Lion Man, Part l

"Little lion man, you are." The words are softly murmured and she looks down on him from her position on the bed above him, fingers finding his hair. He locks eyes with her from their position, and he gives a disapproving look. For a moment, she thinks she's made a serious mistake and offended him. This is disproved when he speaks, tone soft and voice a whisper as if there were people listening to them.

"You are a little lion man is the correct way of saying it." He states rather flatly, a raise of his eyebrow following, as though questioning her education. "You haven't received much instruction, have you, Elaiyne?"

It's rather strange to hear him say her name but she enjoys it. They often don't remember her name, and it's riveting to know that the one man she has always wanted to meet has remembered it. She gives a soft smile, but it has bitterness behind it, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him. No, he likely wouldn't enjoy that. She moves her hand from her side and places it on her shoulder, removing the hair from it to leave it bare. His eyes move to her hand and it appears the ring on her finger has caught his eye.

"Are you betrothed?" The question is absurd to her, considering her occupation and the current position they are in. Regardless, she thinks on it for a moment before responding. She moves her hand to let fingers brush across his lips, hair on his chin tickling the skin of her peach colored palm. A tilt of her head and she focuses on his lips, chapped as they were. She then redirects her gaze to his eyes again, forcing him to lock their gazes and the edge of her mouth rises in due response.

"Would it really matter to you, Lord Lannister? Would it change the purpose you have bought me for? Would it change the price at which you obtained me? Would it change your feelings towards me?" They are genuine questions, and she desires their answers. But he doesn't appear to want to give them. Oh, she had heard of his lack of negative emotions. Always so charming and humorous. At this thought, a hand drops to her side and the smile fades. Her head tilts in confusion, and her brows knit together.

"I suppose it doesn't change much. I still bought you for the same purpose..." He trails off, eyes looking away and what he is meaning to say is unclear to her. He appears to be thinking but she chose to interrupt his thoughts.

"I received it from my father when I was young. It didn't fit at first, but I grew into it. He said it marked me as a princess, as a high-born, as _royalty_. But it only increased my worth when I was sold to Lord Baelish. I was bought for many silver coins; I even gasped at the price at which I was bought. I thought for a while that when I worked, I would be receiving the money myself. I learned within a fort-night that I would never seen any coin that I had earned, no matter how small it's worth or it's size. I lead a rather difficult life, Lord Lannister, and you would be surprised to find that this ring of mine is the only thing that gives me hope...hope that I will achieve a life beyond this."

He is stunned, it would appear, and she can understand. What she has just explained to him was rather strange of her to say, but also quite heavy in emotion and thought. Though, surely, he had heard war stories worse than what little she had just told him. Perhaps it was simply because she was telling him this and she truly didn't understand why she had told him but something about him just made her want to tell him things. To tell him her name, her origin, about her parents, what she remembered of her siblings, the harlots she had become friends with and how much she had heard about him. With no response from him, she continued.

"Lord Lannister, I have heard things about you since I was a child. Stories of you and your physique have long been told to me and graced my mind with pictures of you. But when I met you, today, in the brothel, I realized something..." She leaves a pause and his eyes look up to her once more. "You are not like those stories I was told or even the pictures of you I had in my mind. You are far more beautiful and amazing than that. You are the most beautiful man that I have ever met. Do you know that, Lord—?"

"Tyrion. Call me Tyrion. _Please_."

"Tyrion," She corrects herself accordingly, "Are you aware of this?"

He looks away from her again and she sighs. He isn't, it would appear. She can only imagine the things he has experienced in his lifetime; the shame and the hurt from others thinking he is a monster. The stories she heard as a child weren't as glorious to her as they were to him. No, they were horrific portrayals of a man as more than a man and as a monster, which he hardly was at all. This man before her was beautiful, as beautiful as her homeland and as beautiful as the Narrow Sea and the Eyre. As beautiful as anything she had ever seen, if not more. If only he could be made to understand this.

"How about some wine?" He interrupts and while she would prefer to continue their conversation, she decides to go with where he wants this to go. He'd bought her for a reason, after all, and she was told not to offend anyone and to do as she was asked. She would not go about messing this up, not know that she had met her little lion man.


	3. Little Lion Man, Part ll

They've spent hours just talking, playing games, and drinking flagons of wine. She's shown and taught him things from her homeland; customs, games, Gods, and even the stories they have believed in and had written about for generations. They've talked about life, and everything she has experienced in her lifetime ( the little lion man wasn't fond of opening up to people, she could certainly sympathize ). And yet, they have yet to lay in bed with one another as she was previously informed she was bought for. Regardless, she is sure he wasn't going to answer her if her questions grew too emotionally informational, but she also does have that curiosity within her of why he has yet to do so with her, considering he was the "Gods of Tits and Wine", and she felt so comfortable with him.

"Is there something wrong with me, Lord Tyrion?" She asks, interrupting his story about him stealing a maid's clothing and her tits bouncing as she ran. Surely, he would either continue it immediately or after answering her.

"I was speaking." He's completely taken off-guard by the question, mind still focused on his story ( or the memory of her tits bouncing, one of the two ), but he maintains his usual tact. She knows he's merely avoiding the question, so she doesn't repeat herself. She simply stares over at him from behind the golden goblet in her hand, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He shifts, as if nervous, and he sighs, taking a drink off the goblet he holds. He seems to be considering his words, deciding what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. After a few moments of silence, he speaks in a lowered, calm voice.

"No, there is nothing wrong with you. Why would you think that?" Ah, he's avoiding saying what she wants to know. He knew exactly what she meant, and she was well-aware of this. She squints her eyes at him, takes a drink of wine, and sets the goblet aside. Getting on her hands and knees, she crawls over to him, close enough that her breath is hitting his face. Ginger hairs move from the power of her breath, and his eyes avert quickly, focusing on the wine in the goblet. She leans in closer, lips nearly touching his.

"You know what I mean, Lord Tyrion. You have rented me and yet you have not fulfilled what you bought me for...so...what are you paying me for?" With that, she withdraws somewhat, sitting back with her legs crossing. She stares over at him with curious eyes and a tilted head, hair flowing about her pale shoulders in an unkempt mess of tresses. He's reluctant to answer, as made clear by his silence in that moment, but she's urging for an answer...and Tyrion was never one to let a lady down.

"For company. I do not wish to share your bed at this time and will only pay you for such when I do." He replies, eyebrows raising and lips forming a bitter smile. She was even more curious now, but her question had been answered and as such, she wouldn't push further. She sits back, grabbing her goblet from behind her and she finishes it with a single throw back of her head before holding it out to him, a silent request for it to be filled. He grabs the flagon and refills hers and his own. He reflects her position, stretching out across the floor as she was.

"So what am I to you then? A friend?" She asks, taking a slow drink from her goblet of wine. He raises his eyebrows again, but this time, throws his own head back, this time in a laugh. It lasts for a few minutes, and she's rather confused, until he composes himself and takes a swig of the wine prior speaking once more.

"Lannisters don't have friends." He replies with a loud belch.

A roll of her eyes and she once again sits up, setting the goblet aside. A smooth-skinned hand extends for his hand, finding it and bringing it to her opposite hand. Her hands enclose his and she smiles, tilting her head. It was a habit, she supposed, when she showed happiness. Fingers drift over the lion ring on his finger and she sighs, eyes moving from it to meet his.

" _You_ do." She whispers, leaning over to lay a gentle kiss on the skin of his scruffy cheek. She releases his hand and one hand finds it's way into his hair, the other finding his opposite cheek. She admires the flocculent feel of his ginger tresses, hand drifting across the skin of the back of his neck. Adumbral pink lips press to his in a ghost of a kiss before withdrawing completely.

"You are not attracted to my physical appearance."

"It's not a bad thing."

"Thank you." She responds in a brusque tone, reclining in the position she was before, downing another goblet of wine before refilling it for herself. She takes another drink of it, stiffly, struggling to hide her somewhat hurt feelings. He sighs, knowing that he has injured her, and presses his lips in a firm line. With a deep breath and a close of his eyes, he speaks, voice once more lowered.

"I find you to be of ample personality, and find myself investing more in your company, than what lies between your thighs. I would rather keep you as a loyal friend than lay in bed with you, not because I'm not attracted to you, but because I find you to be of more worth than that."


End file.
